Harpswell PENINSULA

he Allens built this wharf in 1956, and Albert’s stepdad, Dain, 79, began lobstering here when he was 5. Sporting an Allen’s Seafood cap, he grins, “I’ve done a little bit of everything and haven’t had to work a day yet.” Most mornings he’s here by 5:00 a.m. and out on the water by 7:00, trailed by Mr. Wrinkles, his 10-year-old pug. Neither has any plans to retire.

“I’ve got a perfectly good boat,” Dain says, “and I’m putting together another one over they-ah.” And yes, he talks that way.

“The man’s never going to give up; he’s a local legend,” Albert says proudly. “His wrists have been broken so many times from working so hard, but he’s rebuilding that boat,” and he nods at the hulk resting nearby on land.

A breeze blows up the road, pushing us a short distance to The Harpswell Inn, where Dick and Anne Moseley have owned this 1761 landmark for the past 10 years. Anne grew up and has deep roots in Harpswell. “I’m never giving up my point,” she says. (Though the inn is for sale, their “other” house is just across the street.) Breakfast is 8:00 to 9:00, no fooling around, when Anne’s famous blueberry cake will appear.

Meanwhile, there’s supper to be had. Erica’s Seafood, on Basin Point, is near to closing, but the shack’s still hopping when we arrive at 7:00 p.m., blue umbrellas raised over picnic tables and a pier loaded with yellow lobster traps in reach. Rather than rush, we cross the parking lot to the Dolphin

Admiral Robert E. Peary designed his summer home on Eagle Island to resemble a ship; Peary’s small wooden kitchen harks back to the early 1900s; a flotilla prepares to depart H2Outfitters on Bailey Island; the Marie L. heads to Peary’s house in Casco Bay.

Marina & Restaurant’s indoor dining room—same view, related family. “Hope you’re enjoying the sunset,” beams owner Mimi Saxton, as if she cooked it up specially. Light bathes the sailboats in deepening gold; six puffs of juicy local scallops materialize.

Next morning, we’ll return to the marina to catch the Marie L. to Eagle Island, for the short boat ride to Robert E. Peary’s summer home. Buoys flash by, tethered to invisible lobster traps below, and on the horizon the island rounds like a bowler hat. Peary built his house to look like a ship (he was a civil engineer before he became a famous Arctic explorer), and it’s decked out with the fascinating flotsam of an extraordinary life: narwhal tusks that look like unicorn horns; the megaphone that he used to yell at his dogs (in “naughty” Inuit) on nearby Upper Flag Island.